Our Sunsets Are Different
by Axel Reight
Summary: The war has ended along with a painful past that Connor lived in every day. Only the memories stay within his mind and haunt him. He sits next to the window of the Homestead and thoughtfully observes the crimson sunset. Unwillingly, the last rays bring up the old memories. Suggestion: For the mood listen to [Clubbed to Death] by Escala


Our Sunsets Are Different

"Don't think I have any intention of caressing your cheek and saying I was wrong. I will not weep and wonder what might have been. I'm sure you understand. Still... I'm proud of you in a way. You've shown great conviction. Strength. Courage. All noble qualities. I should have killed you long ago." Haytham looked at his son as he collapsed to his knees holding the right side of his bleeding neck with his hand. There was no hope for him to survive; taking breaths was now pointless in the eyes of his son, Connor. Everything was slow around the Grand Master; the only thing he saw clearly was the assassin that stood before him, glancing at the Templar below from under his sharp hood.

Ratonhnhaké:ton gave his father one of his cold emotionless looks, his eyes showed nothing by pure hatred toward the dying man. He desired to see Charles Lee in his place, but getting rid of the Templar leader was somewhat convenient. Besides, Lee was next on his list to kill, and now there was no turning back. Connor had to stop the Templars, their evil and selfish plans; he had to save his people and finally seek support from Achilles after a long ride back to the homestead.

Haytham gave his only son a last glance and rolled his eyes up falling to the ground completely. His eyes became hollow, his gaze staring into nothing but eternal darkness. No breaths were taken; the heart stopped beating, leaving the cooling body on the dirty ground covered in blood.

"Goodbye father." Connor said in his native language and walked off rushing away from the dead man. He did not look back, he erased Haytham's pathetic look moments ago from his mind. Clutching his teeth together, Connor tried to forget everything he had just done. His mind was still foggy from the explosion, his head ached and ears rang loudly forcing him into madness of a dull world around him. There was no way he could get through without resting, it was time to go back to the homestead, heal up, talk to Achilles, and plan the assassination of Charles Lee.

But that was years ago. A while has passed since the day when he first killed a Templar, became an assassin and started his hunt. A while has passed since Achilles gave him an approving look through a surprised expression when Connor threw an axe on one of the pillars of the house announcing war to those who went against his people. The time of running around the Frontier and becoming a part of this bloody war has sank threw Connor's fingers like burning sand on a quiet beach.

It was all a memory of the horrifying past that stood behind Ratonhnhaké:ton's shoulders. Sometimes it came to close throwing more coal into the fire of images where his mother, her eyes wide open and full of hurt, was dying under the wood planks of the flaming house. She yelled him to run away, save himself and live a life of a good man, forgetting about her death and remembering only the good. Yet Connor could not forget; he recalled every detail of that vile day as if it all happened yesterday. He knew he could have saved her, but life was too strict and unfair, as if it exclusively hated his people and wanted to get rid of them just like the army of the aliens that invaded their lands.

The past and present often collided in Connor's mind as he walked through the empty house where he spend most of his time when visiting Frontier between missions and hunting. Metis sometimes heard Achilles's voice coming from one of the rooms, calling him by his name with his weak elderly voice. But when Connor tried to find the source of the sound in the room, he would find nothing but emptiness and darkness in the chamber. He would lower his head and look out of the window where Achilles's tomb silently stood hiding between the high grass and flowers that looked gloomy next to his bright and memorable name.

The old man became Connor's strict but favorite teacher. He became his father when the real one failed to fulfill this mission. Achilles taught him everything that the assassin needed to know, starting from the stealth and finishing with a final blow on the enemy from the shadows. He told the Native American everything about the Creed, their views and goals for the world, along with their sworn enemies. The Templars were a number one on the murder list for every assassin that was tightly grasping and respecting the laws of the Brotherhood. They worked in the dark to serve the light, never killed innocents and swore to protect their united goal.

Ratonhnhaké:ton entered the Homestead as a child, a little pup that lost his mother at such a young age, and secretly desired to feel her tight embrace once more. After years of practice and endless failures with sweet victories, Connor left the house a strong grown man, a graceful and powerful wolf in the eyes of allies and enemies. He learned so much, but still was very naïve toward his surroundings, he trusted easily into strong lies that people forced upon him; he paid big prices and chased after one goal as if he was a mad man.

Metis remembered his craving to find Charles Lee with a wide smirk on his face. He shook his head each time a memory appeared in his mind of him straining his throat after asking the same question over and over again to random strangers and Templars that he would kill after they cried something pointless, afraid for their pathetic life.

"Where is Charles Lee!?" Connor suddenly yelled and broke into laughter with a hint of grief. Somehow he missed those times, even though he sank his elbows into the pool of blood, there was something pleasing each time he broke the Templar plans and sent them into a forest of panic. He enjoyed the Order shatter slowly under the force of his blade like glass thrown harshly against the floor.

Yet there was something deep inside of him that Connor missed the most with hatred and sadness in his eyes. His father, the Grand Master of the Templar Order, that name really suited him back when he had that power growing in his hands. He was powerful, smart, and always had that odd special glow in his eyes that always teased and reassured of something. Haytham was a man of his word, a man of honor and a lover to his mother a while ago.

Ziio never told Connor much about his father; young Ratonhnhaké:ton was too green to know the dark things his father had done within his Order. The boy grew up among his people, and never saw Haytham until a huge desire to kill Lee pushed him toward the way of the Assassins. The day when they first met was cold and gloomy; everything was covered in snow when Connor stepped into a half ruined house looking around. His father, already waiting for him, failed his air assassination and only planted seeds of strong hatred in their father and son relationship.

Haytham would always reproach his son in his clumsiness and a wrong road he chose to take. He would always say that the Assassins are the roots of chaos, and the Templars simply want order and peace in their own best way. Connor only shook his head and snapped at his father each time he brought this foolish conversation up. The Grand Master eventually dropped the topic completely seeing that there was no way to lure his son on his side.

Connor remembered every moment spent with his father, even though the memories were not that great, he still came back to the events of the past in his mind. He recalled every conversation they had when no one was around; every word coming from Haytham would either sting or offend the metis in some way. The hurtful feeling came when the Templar asked about his mother and added a comment in his i-wonder-if manner.

"How is she by the way?" Haytham asked standing up after lock picking the door. Connor was still leaning on the wooden surface, his eyes looking straight into the grief truth.

"Dead," he sharply turns his head and looks at Haytham with a cold expression. "Murdered." He pulls away from the door; Haytham's surprised gaze follows him.

"What?" The Templar nearly whispers, sadness spreading in his chest. "I am sorry to hear that…" He says calmly and suddenly gets sharply cut off by his son.

"Oh, you are sorry?" Ratonhnhaké:ton nearly contains his anger inside. He stares right into Haytham's eyes with flaming wrath. "I found my mother burning alive! I'll never forget her face as she sent me away." He pointed his finger at his father's chest. "Charles Lee is responsible for this by _your_ order." Connor's eyes glowed with hatred toward such memory that his father forced to painfully come back to him.

"And you are 'sorry'." Ratonhnhaké:ton adds with clear sarcasm bringing his hands up a little, palms open as he takes a step back. His father watched him surprised and greatly puzzled.

"It's impossible…" Haytham starts hurriedly explaining himself, his eyes nervously looking around. He never gave out such order, he tried to protect the village, and find a more practical pursuit. His son suddenly pushed him to the side with his strong hand, his face emotionless but hurt.

Connor lets his father know that the conversation is over and heavily opens the door before walking out. Haytham gulps and looks down for a second before silently following his son. A mission together meant nothing but cold success for them; family bonding was never mentioned in it, not even a slight hint.

Ratonhnhaké:ton pulled away from the window and sighed walking toward the thin wall. He pulled a secret lever that disguised itself as a candlestick and the door into the basement opened leading him to the long staircase. Connor then walked down the dusty wooden steps that occasionally creaked under his heavy footsteps.

The man looked around the room where he used to endlessly practice in, he walked over to the dummy, which always received his hits and throws, and touched its hard surface. He then unwillingly glanced on the wall that used to have portraits of the Templars he set a goal to kill. He remembered each assassination as if they all happened at once at the same time. The most painful of them was the death of his father, the assassination of Haytham Kenway.

At first, Ratonhnhaké:ton did not feel anything about the loss of his father, he was only glad to get rid of him as an obstacle. But then realization of missing both of his parents in the present hit Connor with a wave of sadness; he loved his mother and hated his father, a simple statement like that hurt the metis all the time when he thought of it.

Another distant memory shamelessly came into Connor's mind as he slowly made his way over to the empty wall. He touched a void spot where Haytham's portrait used to hang on before it was thrown into the flames of a fireplace along with the others. He closed his dark eyes and drowned himself into another vision.

"Father," Connor says as he tightly grasps the horse's reins and looks over to Haytham. The Templar Master is looking forward, his grey eyes glowing with mystery. He slowly turns his head to look at his son, a barely visible smirk on his lips.

"Son." He says with a soft strong voice and stops his horse before Ratonhnhaké:ton does the same thing. They are standing on the tall hill and watching the sun slowly make its way down into horizon.

"Why do we have to be in a war like this?" Connor asks watching Haytham turn his head back to the sun's last rays. "The Assassins, the Templars, all in one war against each other for thousands of years, why not stop it and find an agreement?"

"We will never agree, Connor." His father suddenly says after the metis stopped asking foolish questions that already received all answers to them a long time ago. "The Templars do not agree with the chaos the Brotherhood throws upon our world, we want peace in our way. On your side, it is very different as well. Your side wants to destroy our organization because you view the peace and freedom inversely from our order in things." Haytham slowly turns the horse away from the crimson sky and a small half of disk on a straight line of the horizon that barely glowed with scarlet.

Connor looks over his father and sees his strong silhouette glowing in the fading light of the sun. He pulls his hood down on his face so the man does not see his disappointed look. Connor knew there was no way to stop this bloodshed between the Brotherhood and the Order; but every time Haytham was nearby, he would always get false hope in fixing everything.

"In reality, we are the same," Haytham suddenly announces with an unruffled tone making Ratonhnhaké:ton look up at him. His father smiles at his son with warmth, but still hostile to him in many ways. "Our sunsets are different." He finishes and orders his horse to walk away from the hill with one movement of his foot. Connor slowly follows giving the sun his last cold glance before it disappears taking the precious light with it.

The night consumes the forests turning its thick trees into tall monsters with green wigs on. The branches slightly move in the warm breathe of the darkness, yet the air feels still and heavy. His father does not say another word after his comment at the cliff; he simply rides forward looking straight ahead as if searching for something. They take a break, eat, still silence between them, and then continue on their way.

"Father…" Connor says taking his hand off the wall and turning away from it. He rushes upstairs away from the damned basement; he does not want the madness of grief to consume him. Yes, Connor killed his father that he always wanted to see beside him, supporting and helping, but there was a good side of such murder. Killing the Grand Master crushed the Templars completely, without their chief the dogs would not know what to do next. It is a good thing to kill his father if the world needs it, right? But did Connor crave for Haytham's death? Maybe. Most certainly! Of course not…

"_Still…I'm proud of you in a way."_ One of his father's final lines drifts into the metis's head like a white snake into a pool of dark blood. "_You've shown great conviction. Strength. Courage. All noble qualities." _Next line after another; Connor treacherously remembers each one of those strings , he hates them, but somewhat pleased to know that his father said it so sincerely before he drifted into an endless sleep.

"_I should have killed you long ago."_

But why did he not kill him when there were so many opportunities open to take? Connor shook his head trying to get rid of those painful thoughts. Unfortunately for him, they still appeared in great numbers one after another. His father did love his son no matter how the situation turned out to be for them both. It did not matter if he was a Templar, and Connor was an Assassin, he still had that warm bond between them deep inside. Haytham still called him his son, and sometimes Ratonhnhaké:ton could read a fair warmth in his father's words toward him.

"_He is my son._" Haytham's words do not leave the metis's mind. He did have a loving mother, and a hostile, but still somewhat caring father. Connor knew, that before the darkness embraced his father's wounded body, he still wondered about what would have happened if he stayed with Ziio, or at least, was a good dad for Connor.

"Sometimes, I do really miss those times, father." Connor says into the darkness of the room and almost feeling like there is someone in the shadowy corners, ready to answer. Suddenly someone taps on the glass of the window quietly, yet the sound storms the house like a big explosion. Ratonhnhaké:ton turns his head toward the tapping noises and sees a large eagle sitting on the windowsill. Its white head and wide brown wings make the bird look graceful and forceful. It was a bird of honor and freedom that men fought for in wars, trying desperately to grab the false happiness.

Connor opened the window and let the bird fly in; the eagle produced some eerie sounds announcing its presence throughout the house. The metis watched the graceful creature land on a stand near him; its deep eyes looked at the man with curiosity. Ratonhnhaké:ton smiled and carefully stroked the eagle's neck; it had soft, almost silky, feathers that flowed down like a waterfall.

"Father, is that you?" Connor asked as the bird continued to observe the metis with its dark eyes. The creature's gaze seemed somewhat familiar, the straight pose it sat in on the wooden stand, with its wings tightly pressed against the sides, reminded Connor of Haytham. He remembers how his father used to always lock his hands behind his back and walk quietly dedicated to his thoughts.

The eagle produced another loud sound and flew up in the air making a circle around the man and then leaving the room through the opened window. Its great wings spread across the colorful sky that was turning red and orange under the setting sun. It flew away, but inaudibly left a promise to come back for another visit. Connor smiled and walked over to the opening pressing his elbows on the dusty windowsill. He watched the bird vanish into the bright and dull rays of the sun.

"I will be waiting for you, father." He whispered watching the day slowly turn into night. Suddenly warm breathe blew against Connor's figure forcing the sharp white hood fall on his shoulders. The last rays captured his cheeks shining a little as warm tears crawled down the tan skin. "I miss you." Connor whispers ignoring another way of silent teats sneak down to his chin.

A grief shadow of that day when his hidden blade pierced Haytham's neck setting a final verdict, was never going to leave Ratonhnhaké:ton's mind. It will continue to come back every day and grow stronger as the eagle would come back bringing a soft but vivid memory of his father. The bird would spend countless moments sitting near the metis before announcing its goodbye and disappearing into the sunset.

Even though now, that the Seven Years' War has ended and everything seemed to settle down into a deep silence a little, Connor understood that Haytham was somewhat right. The Brotherhood and the Order still remained old and violent enemies ready to destroy to prove their point and lead the world in their way. They viewed the same thing differently, and no matter how much blood of the innocents each of them spilled, the views never changed.

Their beliefs remained diverse, even if the goal was the same.

Their sunsets were different.


End file.
